


All We Do Is Hide Away

by SecondFromTheRight



Series: All We Do Is Hide Away [1]
Category: Daredevil (TV), The Punisher (TV 2017)
Genre: F/M, frank's pov
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-24
Updated: 2017-12-04
Packaged: 2019-02-06 04:29:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 14,322
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12809631
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SecondFromTheRight/pseuds/SecondFromTheRight
Summary: But when she opened the door to him that night with a “Frank”, her lip trembling as she stared at him – her eyes were already red from crying and she looked tired – he wondered how much that mattered. He knew what Karen Page looked like crying and breathing – or yelling – his name, he knew what she looked like with blood on her, but he didn’t know who Ben Urich was to her. He kind of hated himself for that. And for a man used to self-contempt, this dose noticeably burned.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I'm not sure what this is. I just...starting writing something. There should be one other chapter.
> 
> This is not the first Kastle fic I've written, but it is the first I've published.

He was starting to get into something of a routine, the start of an after, which included being aware of some of her routine. More than aware; some of her routine making and setting his own. It made him realise how much and how little they had gone through. When watching, he'd see her do things he knew were her, that he recognised her in, could have predicted. She’d check behind her, pat her bag for what he knew was in it and he watched her work for hours, relentless. He’d followed her to a number of source meetings that had his trigger finger tapping away, the proximity of the dregs of society she was meeting with for the bigger story causing the tension in him to tighten up.

It wasn’t scheduled routine but occasionally she’d meet up with Foggy. They went out together and Frank left them alone as soon as he saw her smile with her shaggy-haired friend. He recognised all those things, saw something of the person he had breathed with in those actions. Someone he knew.

But then there would be other stuff that were brand new, that almost surprised him and some he still hadn’t worked out. He was seeing one of the ones he hadn’t worked out yet now. Every last Friday of the month Karen Page met with the same woman – and Frank had no idea who it was.

Not seeing danger, he couldn’t make himself look into who this person was. He couldn’t justify breaking Karen’s trust that way. It wasn’t risking her life, or seemingly, her happiness. So he watched, tried to see what new information he could gain from each interaction alone and never sought further.

The first time he’d followed her to Metro-General he assumed it was for a story. Someone had been injured, or worse, and she was finding out the details for an article, to tell Hell’s Kitchen about some injustice that had happened, to advocate for someone damaged by someone else. But no connecting story seemed to follow and when she went again the next month, same day of the week, same time of the day, he got curious enough to follow her inside. He hadn’t seen them together that time, only seeing the resident of the hospital Karen was visiting once she had left. He found absolutely no answers in the woman sitting in a chair by her hospital bed with a paper in her hand. He watched her finger the newspaper with something like love before he left.

He did see them together the following time. They’d gone out to the gardens and sat together. Frank had watched from a connecting rooftop like the solider he’d always been as they sat at a table. He wasn’t close enough to see their expressions but they were familiar together. There was warmth there.

But this woman – this middle-aged black woman who Karen sat and smiled with – he couldn’t work it out. Their interactions never seemed to include anybody or anything else Frank knew of Karen’s life. Not her work, not Foggy, not even her place. He’d been in her place, seen the frames on the dresser and not one of them had held a picture of this woman. Sometimes Karen would laugh out-loud when she met this woman in a way he hadn't seen before, both of them with huge beaming smiles as they sat at some café Karen had taken them to. Often Karen would kiss her on the cheek, fix the blanket that was sometimes wrapped around her as the older woman sat in her wheelchair. Sometimes Karen would cry as she listened, and talked with this woman. Sometimes they’d both cry.

For how much Karen knew about Frank’s family, about who they’d been and his life with them, he knew nothing about hers. She treated this woman like family. A loved one. Treasured and soft and someone she gave time to, was different with and with some kind of shared responsibility for each other that comes from family. And the woman, she acted like Karen was her own sometimes. She’d cup Karen's cheek, push back her hair, talk at her with what looked like advice with the way Karen listened, indulged; this woman mothered her. Frank wondered if maybe Karen was adopted, or if she’d grown up in the system.  
How could he know so little about her? Every time he thought that, his mind pushed back because he could not, and would not lose whatever it was he had with Karen. It was _something_ , and built on both of them showing themselves to each other, right from the fucking start. He did know her, and she knew him in a way no else had. She knew the absolute worst of him, all his shit, and stayed anyway – stayed and helped.

Karen had buried herself in the death of Frank’s family – death and life, breaking into the home they’d lived to try and witness that life. She’d also dug up and scoured their death certificates. She’d listened to anything he’d wanted to share. Any story, any memory, any shame, any trait or thing they had left behind. She’d listened and hadn’t judged. She’d listened and felt it. Even that first time when he was in that hospital bed, she’d been affected as if she’d known them. She pushed the world to acknowledge the lives of his wife, of his kids, of his family. But he’d never asked her about hers. He knew there was a lot more there, under the surface, things she’d lived that allowed her to see something in him others couldn’t, or wouldn’t, refused to, but he’d never wanted to push her. And he didn’t know if he’d had the headspace for it, so consumed with his own grief, and rage.

Gingersnaps. He remembered that.

Sometimes, he expected to see if this woman would ever offer Karen some gingersnaps. It was stupid, but it was this one thing he knew about her and he clung to it in these interactions that seemed motherly, trying to engage in something he knew about Karen. The way she gave a tiny smile to the woman, the way her hair fell in a curtain or she pushed it back behind her ear – those things he knew. But family, Karen’s family – he didn’t know that. Not past what she’d made in Foggy and Murdock, anyway.

Today wasn’t routine. It was against schedule. It wasn’t a Friday and it wasn’t near the end of the month, but he’d followed Karen to here. Either something was wrong, something drawing her to the comfort this woman gave her, or it was an anniversary of some kind. When the woman met Karen at the entrance and their hug lasted longer than usual and Karen’s tears ran harder – the woman holding Karen’s hands as she talked to her and Karen listened, Frank knew it wasn’t a happy anniversary.

And when he watched as orderlies helped Karen guide the woman into Karen’s car, he became more worried than curious.

When he followed them to the cemetery he knew what it was. He’d made similar trips himself. It was weird being here, like this. He struggled not to reveal himself as he watched Karen help the woman out of the car by herself this time. He wanted to run over and help. But Karen did it like she did everything, seeing it through, determined and committed, but gentle and thoughtful. It was a dull, overcast day, matching the mood and helping to keep him hidden. He kept as much distance as he could. He wasn’t about to use any gear to spy on Karen Page. She wasn’t a mission.

He tried to watch without watching, looking away to try to give them some privacy. It was a joke, considering he was following her, but he felt the need to give something. As he watched before turning away again he knew he would go to her after this. This was it. Checking around her place, looking into the scumbags she wrote out, knowing where she got her morning coffee from – that was one thing, but this was different. This was private. He couldn’t hide from her anymore after this. He could justify staying back if he was keeping her safe, but this was something else.

He wandered to the other side of the cemetery, grateful for how large it was, briefly thinking about getting into the trunk of David’s car in this place. After a while, sure they were gone, he made his way to the gravestone they’d been at. Lilies, and a single red rose lay in gift.

Ben Urich. 

So, not Page then. It still didn’t narrow it down much though. The man still could have been a parent to Karen Page.

He stood there for some minutes, trying to give some respect to someone who meant something important to someone who was important to him. How much of Karen, her passions, her strength, her traits or habits were influenced by this person? He couldn’t help wondering what this man would think of him. He couldn’t imagine he’d be happy about The Punisher following Karen around.

He resisted Googling the name. The only way he wanted to hear about this person’s connection to Karen was from Karen herself. He didn’t like that it bothered him that he was clueless about someone she loved. He didn’t like that it made him question her, their own connection. He knew she liked the gesture of flowers. He knew what brand of beer she kept in her fridge. He knew where she put her purse when she got home. He knew how she looked taking her heels off. And none of those things were from watching from afar. They were because she had invited him in, given him those moments.

But when she opened the door to him that night with a “Frank”, her lip trembling as she stared at him – her eyes were already red from crying and she looked tired – he wondered how much that mattered. He knew what Karen Page looked like crying and breathing – or yelling – his name, he knew what she looked like with blood on her, but he didn’t know who Ben Urich was to her. He kind of hated himself for that. And for a man used to self-contempt, this dose noticeably burned.

“Hey.” He replied, quietly clearing his throat.

She went to move towards him but stopped herself and he felt the loss of the hug she’d decided not to give him. He saw her eyes track down to his hand.

“More flowers?” she asked, almost a smile on her face.

“I uh, you seemed to like the roses before. I didn’t know…” he trailed off thinking about how he’d stood in the small florist trying to decide what Karen might like. He’d picked white again, stems this time, and added more whites with pink tips, testing another choice and then berating himself for it. He didn’t know if she liked pink – he’d never seen her wear pink. Her scarf the night at the waterfront had entered his mind before he pushed it away again. Blue, was mostly the colour he thought of with her. And her hair, like friggin’ sunshine. He’d thought about yellow, but that didn’t seem right either. The florist had tried to help but Frank figured Karen deserved flowers picked by the person giving them to her, for her. If he fucked it up, hopefully he’d get another chance to try and be better.

“I didn’t know what flowers you liked.” He offered as explanation, still holding the flowers in his hands. Maria had liked peonies, but Karen wasn’t Maria. Despite the parts of him that reacted to Karen the way he only ever had for Maria, they always remained different in his mind. Maria was his wife, the mother of his kids. Always, and forever. Her husband had been a different Frank Castle. Karen was…Karen was something he wasn't brave enough to identify yet. And the Frank Castle she knew was someone else too. He didn’t want to give her Maria’s favourite flowers, he wanted to know what her favourite flowers were. But it didn’t look like now was when he was going to find out as she didn’t give him an answer to his hinted question; she didn’t even take the flowers, just stared at them and his hand finally fell back down to his side, still holding the bouquet.

She swallowed. “I’m glad you’re okay. What do you need?” Her eyes slid away from him, avoiding his face.

He deserved it, he deserved it and much more but he still felt the blow.

“Nothin’.” He let her know, wanting her to know he wasn’t here for help, for information, for anything but for her. “I mean, just…wanted to see you.”

“You choose today to just say hi?” she asked sceptically. Never missed a thing did Karen Page.

“Karen,”

“Don’t lie to me,” she let out as if she hadn’t meant to, taking a settling breath before she spoke again. “Please, please don’t lie to me.”

“I’m not going to. Wasn’t.” He vowed simply; she had to know that. And it was an easy thing to give her, had never felt the press to lie to her. It had always been the raw truth with Karen, always. She enabled him to be freer in who he was than anybody had. It wasn’t a nice thing, often resulting in her witnessing the utter shit of him, but it was how it was with her. He may have physically hidden from her, stayed out of her life, but when he was with her, in front of her, none of it was hidden; all laid out for her. She pulled it from him and he gave it easy, spilling his sins to her. Shit, even when he was making a point to not show in her life, she still saw him in his actions as The Punisher, picking him out of the shit going on and showcasing him for the city to see, to read about. “I’ve been…keeping an eye on you. Saw you today. Wanted to make sure you okay.”

“Keeping an eye on me? Following me.” She stated, unamused by his take on it.

“You have a habit of getting yourself into fucked up situations, alright? Risking your ass. Needed to make sure nothing happened to you. I’m aware it’s not exactly a healthy habit, but it’s just one of the many and yours kind of requires it.” He wasn’t apologising for it. No way, no fucking how. She got herself in situations where people tried to kill her. He wasn’t gonna pretend otherwise.

“So it’s my fault you’re following me while letting me wonder if you’re dead.” She said flatly, staring at him with fire in her eyes. Frank exhaled irritably, wishing she would let him into her apartment and they weren’t hanging around the damn doorway.

“That wasn’t – I just want to make sure you’re safe.” He said honestly, looking back at her.

“Yeah.” She whispered as her eyes fell away from his again.

“Karen.” He tried.

“Sorry, it’s been…a long day.”

“Right.” He said with a single nod. She still wouldn’t look at him.

“Which you wanted to ask me about?” she asked with a formality that picked at him. Like she expected the questioning and it was something she had to go through the hassle of.

“Only – only if you wanna tell me. I’m not here to push you or anything. Don’t need to tell me anything you don’t want to. Just wanted to make sure you were alright.”

“I’m fine. But thanks.” She finally looked at him with a small smile that he assumed was supposed to reassure him but it was still all formal, polite bullshit. Like he couldn’t see through it, like he couldn’t see through her. But like he’d told her, he wasn’t here to push her. The flowers felt heavy in his hand. He wasn’t even getting past her doorway. She’d let him in so easily last time and though relieved at the time, he was now feeling like he hadn’t appreciated it enough.

“Right.”

“I’m glad you’re okay. And you look – you look well.” Her lips still curled up. Sweet, and gentle, but still only a sliver of who she was. He would rather she’d screamed at him.

“Hipster-free” he joked, still trying.

“And bruise-free.” She said quietly as she looked at him closer than she had been, quickly looking away again. “It’s a nice look on you.” She nodded down at her feet and he wasn’t sure what else he could do. He couldn’t stand in her apartment entrance like a tool all night and she wasn’t budging. He was already thinking about what kind of flowers he could try next time.

“I’ll…I’ll leave you to your night.” He finally surrendered, feeling the wrongness of it in every muscle of his body. He wasn’t made for surrendering. But for Karen Page, he’d find a version of it, and not for the first time. He’d surrendered in that elevator, to her. And instead it being some kind of ruin like he’d feared, she’d just taken all he had and picked him right back up, sending him on his way, getting it, getting him. “Uh, here.” He brought the bouquet up again, holding them between them. She stared at it, a frown forming as she just focused on the flowers.

He took a chance, slipping past her and into her apartment properly, placing the flowers on the dresser at his right, flicking over the frames that sat there for loved ones, for the woman she spent time with. Nothing. Not even personal pictures. Drawings and art. He wouldn’t push her for answers, but he’d push into her apartment, even if just for the moment before backing away again, leaving something that said he’d actually been there. When he heard her inhale a shaky breath behind him, he was glad he’d stepped inside.

“Karen.”

“Yeah?” her pitch was high, trying to mask how upset she was. He kept his back to her, letting her hide if she wanted to. He’d hidden himself, he’d allow her the same.

“You want me to go, I’ll go but…having some trouble doing that when you’re upset.” He talked over his shoulder.

“That'll be a first.” She muttered under her breath. A sigh followed. “Sorr-“

“Don’t, don’t do that,” he cut her off, turning and facing her. “Don’t apologise. I deserve that. And more. And if that’s all you wanna do right now, you can chew my ear off. I’ll take it. If it helps, you can spit me out, I just… Let me help? I’m here. I’m… I’m here.”

Silence that he held his breath through, then the sound of the door fully closing and the locks clicking into place as he watched her lean against the door for a second before she turned around to look at him. She moved towards him, carefully picking up the flowers he’d put down before she walked deliberately around him and towards her sink on the other side of the room. He didn’t say anything else, taking the win of being let into her place – and allowed to stay. Frank watched her fill a simple, clear vase and unwrap the string around the flowers. She spread the stems out on the small island counter in her kitchen, fingering them.

“Ben,” she said picking up one of the roses. “Ben Urich,” Her eyes flicked up to him and he used it to step further into her apartment, closing the distance between them. “Which you obviously already know.”

“I don’t know who he is.”

“Was.” She corrected sadly as she gathered the roses again. Yeah, Frank knew all about when it was 'was'.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Uh, so it's turned into three chapters now. Oops.

She turned her back on him, standing at the sink with the roses. Frank listened to the sounds of her grabbing some scissors and cutting the ends off. He took the time to look around her place again, looking for differences, for anything else about Karen Page that he’d been oblivious about. He clocked a second blanket on her couch he didn’t recognise from before. He stopped on the picture of her, Murdock and Foggy that he’d noticed last time. And the rose plant he’d given her on her table, next to another plant. It still bloomed; she'd given it a new pot.

The sound of her fridge opening and closing, the clink of bottles had him turning back. He didn’t feel good about the satisfaction, the feeling that resembled something like a soothing balm, that went through him when he noticed she still bought the same brand as she’d had last time. As if some kind of reassurance he hadn’t totally missed who she was. He hadn’t wanted to, but Frank was realising how much he actually needed whatever it was he had with her. He wasn’t ready to name it, but the idea of it being taken away – even via a question of if he really knew her – terrified him. But there she was, same beer, that hair of hers falling in front of her face – hair that he knew the smell of, that has tickled his neck and he’d slid his fingers through.

“He was a journalist at the Bulletin. A good one; a good man.” She talked down to the counter as she took the caps off the beers.

“But that’s not how you knew him.” He said when she didn’t immediately offer anything else. He’d known Karen before she worked at the Bulletin and the dates on Ben’s gravestone showed he’d died before Frank had met her.

"Sorta. He died before I worked there, but I guess he is why I work there. My office – it was his. It’s why I have it.” She handed him the beer and his mind flashed back to the last time they’d been here, her giving him a beer, everything that had happened between then and now.

“Shining Star.” She stated as she stood in front of him.

“Hm?” he grunted, his eyebrows pulling down in question.

“It was his tape. And his car.” Guilt. A feeling he was familiar with, that felt like some brother-in-arms at his side with how familiar it was, how constant, making him question if he what he was doing was right and never leaving him no matter what. But most of the guilt he felt he expected. This was new. He remembered her face when she took that tape outta the radio-deck. He thought she was just pissed at him. Should have known – things were never simple with Karen Page, never all that it seemed. He’d had no idea who Ben Urich was an hour ago but he’d driven the man’s car for Christ sake. And crashed into it. And shot at it. Fuck. He didn't like to think about the first night they'd met. Didn't count it as the first time they'd truly met. That was when she'd stepped over that damn red line and never let up since. But that night with the piece of shit Grotto - he didn't care at the time; knew he wasn't going to harm her so it didn't matter. But now the idea of anybody scaring Karen Page the way he must have that night tore something apart in him. Thank christ she was made of stronger stuff than he was.

“Shit, Karen. I… I’m sorry.” She walked around him, making her way to the couch where she took a seat. He turned around, tracking her movement.

“Frank, I don’t know how much you know about me.” She stared down at the coffee table in front of her as he stayed standing.

“I don’t. I mean, I never looked into you, Karen. I looked into Nelson and Murdock a bit when you took on Grotto, but it was obvious none of you were involved in that kind of shit and were, what I figured, clueless lawyers thinking they were somethin’ special. Realised how wrong I was about that when you got in my face at the hospital.” He chuckled a smirk at her, glad when she smiled back. She’d been a something he never saw coming. And Murdock, well, naïve maybe, but hardly the incapable suit Frank had thought he was. Foggy was maybe the only one as naïve as Frank had originally deemed them and even he had shown some unexpected smarts in the court room - and some unexpected guts.

“You didn’t think to check me out?” she asked looking at him with some confusion once her smile fell again. "Even after you got out?"

“…no.” he replied, wondering on the uniqueness of that decision. “Enough to find out where you lived but past that…” he shook his head, his brows lowering as he thought about it. “And since, to make sure you were okay, you were safe. But your past? Wasn’t any of my business.” He’d respected her, straight off the bat. That’s pretty much what it came down to. Goddamn good decision it had turned out to be.

“Are you staying or leaving?” she asked bluntly, stealing his breath. She had a habit of doing that, of stunning him, or stilling him. He’d come here ready for apologises, for her to be furious with him, but he wasn’t ready for her to ask him outright if he was going to walk out of her life again or not. He wasn’t ready to answer it himself. Wasn’t ready for what it meant. Could he really so anything but be a burden in her life?

“Karen,”

“Frank I’m not telling you anything with you hovering around like that. Staying or leaving.” She said firmly, not even looking at him. Even if she was asking for the moment, for the night, Frank still felt the choice with every step towards her that he took. It couldn’t not mean something past tonight, but it also couldn’t mean everything. His jaw tensed when she looked disappointed at him choosing the wooden chair across from her instead of next to her on the couch. He took a long drink of his beer to distract himself. He was such a fucking asshole. 

“You know the firm went up against Wilson Fisk, right?” She sat leaning forward, her own untouched bottle of beer in between her hands. Her hair was curtained in front of her, hanging past her face.

“Yeah, a little.”

“This is…” she trailed off, swallowing. “I don’t know where to start.”

“Anywhere you want. Anything you…it doesn’t have to be at the start. Just talk.” He tried.

“The start seems easier.” She said with a twitch of her lips as she looked up again, catching his eye.

“Then start at the start.”

“Okay.” she said quietly, softly.

“Okay.” He replied just as softly. They stared at each other. Karen broke their eye contact first. She put her beer on the table in front of and settled back into the couch as she cleared her throat. Frank copied her, adding his bottle next to hers and found himself leaning forward, as if trying to chase her, wanting to hear what she had to say. His eyes flicked to the other side of the couch where he'd chosen not to sit.

“I guess…I guess how I met Matt and Foggy?” She licked her lips and swallowed and Frank felt himself ready for the full thing as much as she seemed to be preparing herself for it. For the secrets of Karen Page. Secrets to him, at least. “A few of years ago, I was working for Union Allied Construction, as a secretary. I woke up, in my apartment…next to my co-worker's dead body. His blood, everywhere. All over me, my hands.” Her voice was steady but she stared at her hands like she could still see the blood. "The carpet. And a knife, in my hands.” Frank watched her fingers curl as if reminding herself her hands were empty now. “I didn’t even have time to figure out what and where…when the cops came in and arrested me. I didn’t do it.” She said simply as she looked at him again. Frank nodded, accepting of what she said. She seemed to take some kind of assurance that he so easily believed her, continuing her story. “Matt and Foggy were my lawyers. I was their first client.” She said with a small and fond smile. “My first night in lock up someone tried to kill me. A cop. He tried to choke me, with the sheets.”

Frank could feel his own fists start to curl now as he breathed in through his nose. The image of Karen being in that. He knew how it felt to choke someone, to watch their last breath. Their face redden, their eyes roll back as they struggled. The idea that Karen would have been that person made the violence in him flare up. And the panic. He didn’t know what to do with that feeling other than attack, attack, attack. He didn’t have anybody to attack right now. This was done, something that came before him and something that could have taken away the chance of him ever knowing her. How different his life would have ended up. Where would he be now without her? Dead, with his family, dead, with her. He wiped at his mouth, trying to get rid of it all. She wasn’t dead, she was sitting in front of him. Safe in her blood-free, bullet hole-free apartment.

“Set you up for murder and then kill you so you could never tell the truth. Sounds familiar.” He cleared his throat.

“My co-worker, Daniel, and I had discovered the company was laundering money. He wanted to speak out about it, so they killed him." Frank briefly thought of Micro making a similar decision that also cost him. "Matt and Foggy got me out after…what happened. But Fisk's guys tried again. I was staying with Matt but I went back for the USB with the proof - I'd stashed it in my place. Some guy bashed my head against the wall, came at me with a knife.” God the trouble this woman could get herself into. Why was she a target for so many assholes in this world? “Ma… A man in black saved me, Daredevil. Before he was known as Daredevil.” she said with her head bowed, talking to her lap. Right, Karen Page had had another vigilante watching her back, before him. A self-righteous pain in the ass that lied to her, but still saved her life, kept her safe. They hadn’t talked about him since Frank had reappeared in her life but by her almost slip of his name, she’d clearly found out about Murdock’s nightly activities. He didn’t think about Red much but somehow now he found himself wondering if the guy had worked up the guts to actually tell her, or she’d found out some other way. And still she was protecting him, his identity even now. Whatever, he wasn’t lying to her about it, wasn’t going to pretend he didn’t know who he was. He stared at her easily, pushing her to get it. It took her about 4 seconds before she scoffed.

“You know.” She shook her head with a bitter laugh and looked away. He didn’t know if the resentment was aimed at him or Red, or both of them.

“Hm.” He grunted.

“Is that why you asked me about Matt that night? In the diner.” She asked accusingly as he faced him again. He didn’t like being on the receiving end of that look from her. Like he’d lied to her, like she was questioning who he’d actually been with her.

“No.” he said automatically. “Well, not for the most part. I wanted to know if you knew. But I asked cause of you, Karen.” She stared at him, obviously trying to decide if he was being truthful or not. He was grateful for the way her shoulders sagged, the tension she’d worked up being let go again. He was even more grateful for the nod she aimed towards her lap. He didn’t really want to talk about Red. “Who wanted you dead so much?” He asked, bringing the conversation back. He didn’t want to talk about Red. He would, if that’s what she wanted. He’d listen to how much she missed the jackass if that’s what she asked of him, but otherwise, he wanted to know what scumbags had hurt her in a way Murdock hadn't and if any of them were still alive so he could kill them for going near her. And he wanted to know how Ben Urich fit into it all. He was pretty sure he knew the answer the question he was asking already and he wasn’t happy about it.

“Wilson Fisk.” She said with some caution and what sounded like fear, confirming his thinking. It might have been that – that tiredness and fear in her voice that made him exhale at the name. “When we couldn’t get enough on him… I wouldn’t give up, none of us would. He'd ruined lives. A client of ours, Elena Cardenas, died. Fisk had her killed. I couldn't..." she trailed off with a frustrated sigh. "I went to Ben Urich for help. Convinced him to start looking into Fisk, try to find something.”

“I take it you found something." he encouraged her. She nodded quickly, her head bobbing.

“Fisk’s mother. She was at a private hospice, upstate. We talked to her, found out Fisk had killed his father when he was just a kid." Jesus. She was goddamn impressive. She managed to dig out everybody’s secrets huh. How many close calls had she had? He could picture Karen somehow lying her way into the place, getting the man’s weaknesses like nobody else could. Smart and careful in a way he wasn’t. Gentle against his brute, but just as persistent, and just as successful in getting the answers it seemed. She’d done it with him, made him fess his shames, convinced him of something that felt like hope. Done it all in a pencil skirt and heels compared to his gun and combat boots. "Ben didn’t want to, he thought it was too dangerous and we should take a step back. I pushed. Wilson Fisk killed Ben.” And there it was. He remembered the physicality of that asshole. Frank had fought a lot of guys in his life, but Wilson Fisk was something else. Frank wish he'd killed him.

“Karen.”

“And I don’t mean he sent someone to do it, ordered it. He did it himself. He strangled him to death in his home. I'd been there the night before, talking to him about the story.” Her voice caught on the last word, sobbing into her hands and then turning her head away from him as she tried to hide it.

“Hey, Karen.” He tried but she just hunched her shoulders more, tilting away from him. He’d seen Karen cry and not go to her before, more than once. It got harder each time not to respond to her. The last time was damn near impossible and he’d only been able to haul his ass outta that elevator because she’d looked at him with acceptancing, encouraging him to leave. Each time he’d left her afterwards. He couldn’t do it again. He couldn’t do nothing again. He got up, edging past her and sat where he should have sat in the first damn place, next to her on the sofa. She sobbed harder when he did, her body trembling as she tried to quieten herself. “Hey,” he soothed, reaching out his hand to touch her arm. He could feel the battle in himself between wanting to comfort her, needing to comfort her, and being terrified of it. And then she looked at him, biting on her lip as tears ran down her face and he was done. His hand was against her cheek, thumbing away tears and tucking her hair behind her ear before he realised he’d made the choice to do it. “Wasn’t your fault.” He told her, knowing it was what she was thinking. She leaned into his hand, her eyes closed and her lips trembling. He watched a tear on her other check catch on her lip.

“It was.”

“Karen, it was not your fault.” He said firmer. She brought up her hand and placed it over his still cupping her cheek, pressing against him. Frank watched her closed eyes tighten as she took a deep breath, taking in the moment. He briefly wondered if she might take his hand away from her face but she let it drop again instead, leaving his. He brushed his thumb against her cheekbone once more before he let his own hand fall away. “Fisk is garbage. It’s on him, he did it, not you, you hear me?”

“I talked to Ben hours before. He was going to publish everything that night. But Fisk found out.”

“Why Ben and not you?” he asked wondering how she’d escaped the mobster, needing to know if she was still in danger.

“I don't really know. Do you know the name James Wesley?” she asked as she wiped at her face.

“A Fisk guy? His right-hand guy or some shit, right?” He guessed, knowing it sounded familiar. She nodded.

“Fisk's main man. He'd been...in contact with the firm before then. Tried to control us. He found out about us, about Ben and me talking to Fisk's mother. I woke up drugged, on a chair. A table in front of me, and a gun on the table. And James Wesley sitting on the other side. I guess he didn’t think I’d use it.”

“Not your first rodeo.” He murmured, remembering her response the first time he’d said that to her. He knew there was something, someone, but the second under Wilson Fisk? She never did shit small. He didn’t even question the relief, the peace he felt at hearing she’d killed someone. He wanted to praise her for it. He knew what it made him and he didn’t give a fuck. Karen Page was alive and some lowlife wasn’t. That was how it should be.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I needed to break this up, so there will be yet another chapter. But I have written most of it already and there won't be much of a wait for it - I should get it up tomorrow.

“Karen, does Fisk know about you?” He asked her, feeling that panic again at the possibility. She shook her head.

“It’s been two years. Do you think I’d still be here if he did? I don’t even know how he found out about Ben.” She wiped a last stray tear trying to escape before she touched her fingers over her lips and took a shaky breath before exhaling. Frank remained at next to her, facing her side on as she sat straight. "What I did...it was supposed to save Ben. Wesley threatened everybody I cared about - said he'd kill them all. Ben, Matt, Foggy... I had to. But it didn't even matter in the end."

“Who knows about Wesley?” He needed to know everything. Anything that would risk her, anything that he had to stop.

“You.”

“No one else?”

“No. I never told anyone.” She said numbly as she stared at nothing.

“Not even Red?” he questioned without wondering if maybe he shouldn’t. “Murdock.” He corrected as an afterthought. 

“No,” Karen shook her head. “Matt…Matt was about the law. Even as Daredevil - Matt valued life. All life. I couldn’t tell him. The way he’d look at me?” she turned to him then, upset showing on her face. “He didn’t even know I was working with Ben. He would have told me not to, and he would have been right.” Frank remembered Red’s lecturers. Remembered him in the court room, too. Sanctimonious idiot. The life he should have valued was Karen’s.

“What did Ben think?” Frank asked her, hoping it was a better way to go. Karen looked away again, her eyes drifting down. Shame. He recognised it on her, and hated to see it there. This woman shouldn’t be ashamed about anything. She'd done something she shouldn't have to save people she loved. She was a force all by herself. 

“That the story needed to be told.” She replied with a single nod.

“That – that’s the part you pay attention to, you hear me?” he dipped his head as he got in her space even more, trying to catch her eyes, trying to get her to listen to him. Karen pressed her lips together, stopping her own reveal of feelings and emotions. He remembered her making that expression before, in that damn elevator as she'd looked over his injuries. He still wondered exactly what she had stopped herself from saying then, or if she had just been trying not to cry.

“Doris is Ben’s wife,” she said, pulling him from their previous moment in the hotel and back into her living room again. “She never blamed me. Said Ben followed the story; he was a reporter, it was part of who he was,” she nodded, like she accepted that was how Doris felt about it at least, and she wasn’t going to try to change it. Frank accepted the small win. It seemed enough to stop her from falling into never-ending guilt about it. She still had a relationship with Doris, Frank had seen it. She hadn’t pushed her away out of regret. “She’s sick, has been for a while, before Ben died.”

“You seem close.” He commented, remembering her smiling, remembering Doris cup Karen’s cheek.

“Oh, picked that up from the spying on me, did you?” she said raising her eyebrows accusingly, thankfully her lips were curled with some amusement, as she seemed to echo his thoughts. “In a way, yeah, we’re close.”

“No pictures of them?” he wondered, thinking of how often he'd looked at the picture of his family.

“There’s a picture in my office. I spend more time there anyway – so did Ben,” she shrugged with some sadness. Her work ethic then, maybe that was something she had learned from Ben, or that he’d reinforced at least. “But we didn’t exactly have the kind of relationship where you stop for selfies. So I don’t have anything like that of us. Nothing much to say we meant much to each other.” She added quietly, Frank saw her eyes flicker to the rose plant he’d given her. He bowed his head, feeling his own guilt now. He could hear her loneliness. And her accusation, about him, about them. If he died, if he died like Ben, what would Karen be able to show for their relationship? Would she ever be able to tell anyone? There was no Doris for him, nobody Karen could remember him with. Selfishlessly he realised how much he was glad David knew about Karen, knew that she meant something to him. Madani knew, had managed to single out Karen early on as someone who cared about him, might have a path to him. Even Mahoney must have known something by now - the man wasn’t an idiot. But David – if Frank did die, David would always know how much Frank had cared about Karen, that she hadn’t shared their connection alone. But would she have that? The scenario that she was the one to die and no one in her life would know about him suddenly forced itself into his mind and he had to dig his fingers into his palms not to physically react. Surely he’d be done anyway, surely he would have died with her. Wasn’t that the only way such harm could come to her? If he’d failed trying to save her. But still, the thought pushed at him. Could he even attend the funeral? He’d have nothing tangible to show of them. Someone would probably just throw his plant away even, after she’d so obviously cared for it.

“Doesn’t mean it wasn’t there, that you didn’t have something.” He found himself saying, trying to convince himself as much as her.

“God, Frank, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean – I know how much you miss your family. I didn’t mean to diminish that.” There she was, endlessly compassionate Karen Page. First time he really wasn’t thinking about his family and she wouldn’t let him, anyone, forget them. She wet her lips and Frank followed the movement, realising he wanted to kiss her. He wanted something tangible, proof he could physically feel. He wanted her. Frank closed his eyes, breaking the thought. This wasn’t – he couldn’t. He just couldn’t. He wasn’t allowed, he wasn’t good enough for her. He’d never lied to her, but there was things she didn’t know that would disappoint her, even more so after what she’d revealed to him tonight.

“Karen, I have to tell you something. About Fisk.” He said as he opened his eyes to look at her again.

“I know you blew your trial because of Wilson Fisk, Frank.” She replied gently, a small, understanding smile on her face that he found himself honing in on. “He was the source you told me about? He was one of our cases, you think we didn’t know which cell he was in? Foggy remembered.” She explained with the same forgiving tone. She’d known this whole time, known why he’d gone against their agreement for him to take the stand. And after everything Fisk had done to her, she still had been on Frank’s side. Frank wondered if that was part of why she’d put a gun in his face the way she had, thinking he’d been working with Fisk, that Fisk has sent him after her. He hated the image it created in his mind.

“He’s a shitbag. I would have killed him in there and now I…now I really want to fucking end him. I’m not working with him, Karen.” He told her sternly. She had to know.

“But he wants to use you.”

“He’s not getting what he wants.” He stared at her – she stared back, her brows furrowed in worry, in concern.

“Daredevil always dealt with him. Now that Matt’s…” she stopped herself, her hair curtaining in front of her again. It moved like silk.

“You don’t need to worry about it.”

“He'll get out. Somehow, some way. The kind of man he is...”

“You don’t have to worry about it,” he repeated. “You think I’m gonna let anything happen to you?”

“I can take care of myself, Frank.” She said. He was sure it was automatic. She’d learned to look after herself, rely on herself.

“Yeah, I’ve seen you with a gun,” he said with a chuckle, his lips curling in something of a smile. “Doesn’t matter. I’m still gonna keep an eye.”

“From afar, right?” she said with some resentment, pinning him with her eyes.

“Karen,”

“Here we go.” She dismissed as she stood up, leaving him behind as turned her back and she walked away. She sighed, tired and angry at him.

“Don’t do that. I’m not safe to be around.”

“Did you listen to anything I said?” she turned around and looked at him. “A word of it? People were trying to kill me long before I knew you, Frank!”

“And you think that makes it better? Jesus, Karen. You think I wanna add to that kind of shit for you?” he stayed sitting; it took deliberate effort. He watched run her fingers through her hair like he’d seen her many times before. She shook her head before looking back at him, staring at him over the back of the couch.

“Why are you even here? You feel guilty? Well, I’m fine. You’ve checked in, you’ve done your bit. I’m just great. So you can leave again now.” She said bitterly, wetting her lips again as she stopped herself yet again from getting upset, from showing him her feelings, showing him _her_. He wasn’t having that. He wanted what she had to give.

“What do you want me to do, huh? What do you want from me?” he pushed.

“I want you to stay! I want you to choose to stay!” she cried in an outburst which quickly deflated. “I want you to _want_ to stay.” She added in a whisper as she started to cry again. He was up off the couch and going to her then. She backed away from him as he moved forward, wrapping her arms around herself. He kept going.

“Hey, hey,” he said as he reached her. “Shh, shh. Karen.” He tried to comfort as he put one hand on her arm and used his other to curl her hair behind her hair like he’d been wanting to. He repeated the action just because he could, feeling the softness of her hair against his skin. He tugged her against him, his hand going from her arm to her waist. Frank let out a deep sigh as she came willingly, finally tucking herself against him. He could feel her gripping his jacket and then she went under it, touching his shirt. Like he had months before, in this very space, he rested his head against her neck, giving into her as he squeezed her back. She was as tall as he was, he wasn’t used to that; their full bodies touching from head to toe as they stood together. She felt as strong as he was too.

“Frank.” She said, muffled and broken against him.

“I know.”

They stayed like that. Frank could feel them swaying but neither moved. Karen was the one who always pulled away. Before, when he’d first sought her out again and she’d unexpectedly hugged him, she was the one who let go first, seemingly embarrassed at showing so much vulnerability in front of him. Really he was the one showing it, even if she had hugged him, even if she was the one that had said it was good to see him, showing she missed him. But Frank had hugged her back, had sank into her, had closed his eyes and breathed her. He hadn’t hugged a woman since his wife. He remembered Sarah hugging him, and the difference. For him and Karen it had only been about them. It wasn’t about them missing someone else, wasn’t about Maria or Red, like it had been about David for Sarah. With Karen, it had been something of them, of their connection. It had been about them missing each other. and being happy to see each other again. Karen had had him in that moment. She’d had him even more in the elevator. Both times he hadn’t been able to pull away, she’d had to. It wasn’t any different this time. But it wasn’t her embarrassment, or her knowing he had to leave that had her pulling away - someone knocked on her door. 

“Hey, you expecting anyone?” he asked quietly, not pulling away fully, not letting go of her, but he was tensing at possibilities of any danger that could be on the other side of her door.

“No. I…” Karen shook her head, her eyes wide.

“Karen?” a man’s voice called. He didn’t recognise it.

“It’s Ellison.” Karen whispered as she looked back at him.

“Your boss.”

“Yeah. He -” her faced cleared of confusion. “It’s Ben’s anniversary.” She offered as explanation.

“You trust him?” Frank asked her, making a choice, one that he hoped was right for both of them.

“What?”

“Ellison. Do you trust him?” He asked again.

“With what?” Karen questioned with a frown.

“With me.” He said simply. He could feel the fear rising in him. If he was doing this, it would change everything. But he wasn’t sure he had much choice anymore, he wasn’t sure there was a choice anymore. He was alive, another choice he’d made. But what was the point of being here if Karen wasn’t involved in his life? This was just part the choice he’d already made. “If you do, you should let him in.”

“So you can leave through the window?” she said incredulously. It helped embolden what he was deciding. For her, it was either/or, she couldn’t have both. If she lived her life, let someone from her daily life into her home, it meant he had to leave, that she had to lose him. Frank didn't know how much he could really give her but wanted to try to give her both, give her something that wasn’t him dead and her mourning him alone.

“It’s your call, Karen. If I’m gonna be around, people in your life are going to have to know at some point.” God, her face at his words. She looked so hopeful, and grateful.

“Karen!” Ellison called again, sounding panicked. Frank couldn’t blame the guy, he would be panicking too.

“Frank.” Karen said with some desperation as she stared at him. He brought his hand up to her face, caressing his thumb against her jaw, finding strength in her.

“Let him in.” He encouraged. She blinked at him before she finally let him go as she headed towards the door.

“Are you trying to give me a heart attack?” A voice said with judgement. Then Frank saw him as he came into her apartment, Karen closing the door and trailing behind. Frank stood where he was.

“Sorry, I was uh, -” Karen said as Ellison stopped short in front of Frank.

“You were entertaining Frank Castle in your living room.” The editor stated.

“Ellison.” Karen cautioned.

“The Punisher is in your living room, Karen.” The older man stated with fatherly disapproval as he turned back towards his reporter.

“I am standing right here.” Frank pointed with some amusement.

“I’m not talking to you,” Ellison said as he pointed at him before he turned back to Karen. “What are you thinking?” Frank couldn’t remember when someone talked to him like that. And he’d just dismissed him, actually turned his back on him, on The Punisher.

“I didn’t let you in so you could yell at me. If that’s all you’re gonna do, you can leave.” Karen said determinedly. Then her shoulders sagged. “Please don’t argue with me about this. Not today.” She added with more feeling, making Frank want to kiss her. So strong and so soft all at once.

“Oh that’s manipulative. And unfair,” Ellison replied plainly. “I miss Ben too. What do you think he’d think about this?” he gestured back towards Frank.

“I don’t know.” Karen said quietly as she hung her head. That pissed Frank off. Damn asshole, using Ben’s death against her. Then the editor surprised Frank as he let out a sigh.

“He’d probably have been involved the whole time.” He sighed again, completely put upon, as he moved towards the kitchen before he doubled back and acknowledged Frank, holding out a bottle of scotch. “I’m going to need a lot of this. Want one?”

“Uh, sure. Thanks.” Frank replied, risking a look at Karen who was biting her lip to keep from smiling. He heard Ellison grab some glasses, the pouring of drinks and the tap of the bottle being put on Karen’s kitchen counter. When Frank looked towards him he saw the man exchange a look with Karen that Frank was pretty sure was about the flowers still sitting in the vase on the island. Ellison held out a glass to Karen which she declined with a shake of her head and hand. Ellison shrugged before swallowing the liquid himself and disregarding the glass before picking up the third he’d poured.

“Are the cops going to turn up at any point?” Ellison asked him, halfway holding out the drink to him. 

“No reason to think so.”

“Then here.” The editor finally gave him. Frank accepted the drink with a nod of thanks, watching the other man’s non-response to him as he went and made himself comfortable in the chair Frank had been sat at earlier, looking like none of this was out of the ordinary. Karen came over and sat down on the couch again, curling her feet under her. Frank stood for a second before making his way over to the couch too, stopping to take off his jacket and drape over one of Karen's chairs by her table.

“The lilies yours? I saw them.” The editor said, looking at Karen.

“Yeah, I went with Doris.”

“How is she?”

“Okay. Most days I see her are good ones. I don’t know how long that lasts. Her sister is visiting tonight.”

“Which one?” Ellison asked with narrowed eyes.

“The one Ben hated.” Karen replied with a smile. She sounded teasing, Frank liked hearing it.

“He’d come into work muttering about her more than once. There was a number of times when he and Doris were supposed to be having dinner with her and he just happened to be working on a story that kept him working all night. Half the time we’d end up drinking. Of course it was Ben so even him ditching dinner with the in-laws was completely polite and reasoned.”

Watching Karen smile made Frank happy in his choice. To see her with others, living her life and to witness it – and not from a rooftop or the street across or from reading her articles, but sitting right next to her, in her home. He could feel the warmth of her body. And he was allowed to be here, was welcomed, even. Ellison didn’t seem to have an issue talking in front of him, sharing memories with Karen. He’d accepted that Frank was part of Karen's night, part of Karen’s home, maybe. Frank felt something unfurl inside him, breathing became a little bit easier and he felt like with little effort he could maybe even relax. Frank didn’t remember the last time he felt relaxed. But sinking back against the couch, nudging and barely brushing Karen’s barefoot next to him as he placed his hands down, he thought maybe he was close. He was okay not engaging, not being aware of every little thing going on in the room. He could just listen to Karen talk to her boss, her friend, and just sit and just _be_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for everyone reading, and especially for the kudos and comments. I appreciate them :)


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay I'm done! :)
> 
> I really didn't have a plan for this story when I started writing it, at all. So I hope it's turned out okay.

“I know you look out for her.” Frank offered to Karen’s boss as they were left alone. Karen had taken her and Frank’s beer bottles, pouring away her almost full one and the leftover of his before she went through a door Frank hadn’t seen the other side of, announcing she’d be back in a minute.

“I guess that’s something we have in common then. Though my idea of looking out for her doesn’t include taking her hostage.”

“That was–“

“Was most likely her idea, I’m sure. Doesn’t mean I like hearing about it. Again.” Ellison stared at him with judgement.

“Fair enough. I didn’t like doing it.” Frank said, remembering having Karen against him as he walked with her, a gun under her chin. They’d saved each other that day, but it was messy, violent and hurtful.

Ellison put his glass on the table, shifting forward on the chair to address Frank. He brushed his beard around his mouth before he said anything.

“I know you’ve been through… a lot. I’m sorry about your family.”

“Thanks.” Frank said with some difficulty, feeling his body tense again, at the reminder of his loss as well as the sympathy, pity, whatever the hell it was.

“I wasn’t finished.” Ellison snapped.

“Course you weren’t.” Frank muttered under his breath, but the lack of respect was easier to deal with than the offers of condolences.

“I helped Karen find out about what happened, when she was still at Nelson and Murdock. And I went with her to what was thought to be one of your crime scenes. She defended you, was convinced you couldn’t have done it. So, I know some of what you’ve been through, but I’m not like Karen; I don’t fall for every subject I write about, I don’t get attached like she does – she’s better than me. I mostly think you’re a murderer. But she’s clearly not going to give you up. Whatever it is you have - and I'm not sure I even want to know what it is, honestly. But with the trouble she gets herself into, maybe having Frank Castle watch her back isn't the worst thing in the world. Do not hurt her.” He said carefully.

“I’d never hurt her.” Frank automatically replied, his voice even deeper than usual as he vowed it. It didn’t seem to have much affect on Ellison.

“I don’t mean like you do others. It’s not the violence that will hurt her. How much faith that woman has put into you? And since the beginning; she sat in the Bulletin for hours trying to find out your story, long before your trial, before you were even caught. Don't disappoint her.”

“What if that’s all I’m capable of doing?” Frank asked quietly, voicing some of his fears as he looked up at the other man before looking away again, feeling himself start to rock back and forth as he tried to gain some control back.

“Well that’d be an excuse now, wouldn’t it.” Ellison replied, like it was simple. Like he didn’t even question it. His man, this person who Karen spent her days with, who knew about what Frank had done and had seen everything that Frank had left behind, was giving some kind of acceptance of having Frank be in Karen’s life. He wasn’t warning him away from her, he was warning him that he better stay in her life – because he knew it’s what Karen’s choice was. Just as Frank was thinking he needed to thank the man or something, shake his hand or some shit, he went and flared Frank’s anger again. “How are you even here, anyway? Wait, let me guess. Homeland Department let you go. Some kind of deal made? You keep quiet or something?” Frank glared at him silently and all the other man did was scoff. “I’m a life-long reporter. And quite good at it, thanks. Deputy Rawlins just happens to disappear not long after a promotion? Come on.” He waved his hand dismissively.

“You planning on running that story?” Frank asked with a hint of a threat in his voice, a warning that yet again the other man ignored.

“Why bother? Conspiracies that most people won’t believe? More disillusionment in instituations than they already have? What’s the point? If anybody was going to push for it to be published, it'd be Karen anyway.”

“I haven’t told her yet.” Frank said.

“You think she hasn’t worked it out by herself? At least some kind of idea?”

“I’m sure she has. But it’s still something I want to tell her myself.” Frank replied, as sincere as he could be. Ellison accepted, nodding with a thoughtful turn of his lips. He reached for his drink again, finishing it off before he got up, taking the empty glass to the sink.

“Are you leaving?” Frank heard Karen’s voice before he saw her as she re-entered the living room. Frank watched her walk towards Ellison. She’d put on a sweatshirt though she was still in her skirt.

“Yeah, I should get home, you know, family. Take tomorrow off.” Her boss insisted.

“Oh, no, I –“ Karen frowned, shaking her head at the offer. Frank could tell Ellison was used to her reacting that way and the man dismissed her rejection just like he did Frank’s threats.

“Work from home. Or come in and distract yourself. Whatever you want.”

“Thanks, boss.” Karen accepted with a smile that said she appreciated it, was touched at someone trying to take care of her. The two of them looked at each other and Frank saw how much they actually meant to the other for the first time. There was a comfort there, a support.

“Uh huh.” Ellison said casually as if he hadn’t just exchanged the moment with Karen. He walked towards the door, Karen going with him. Then he turned around and looked at Frank. “Oh uh, I’m assuming Micro was involved in all this?” he asked with some smugness. Frank glared at him again. "Oh, I'll take that intimidating look as a yes. Interesting." For a second Frank wondered if there had been some mass memo announcing that Frank Castle was no more or something; he was running through options of someone he could violently kill to change that when he noticed Karen looking like she wanted to laugh. It wasn't about The Punisher no longer being a force not to fuck with; Ellison was ballsy because he knew Frank wouldn't do anything to someone Karen cared about. It wasn't about a lose of belief in The Punisher, it was about a faith that The Punisher wouldn't hurt Karen Page. And the smug asshole was right.

“The unpublished article was Ellison’s.” Karen explained, lowering her head to try to hide her amusement, her fingers playing with the collar with her sweatshirt.

“You're welcome for that by the way. Enjoy the rest of the scotch!” he called behind him as he left.

“He’s uh, likes to talk a lot, huh? Got a lot of opinions. Reminds me of someone I know.” Frank said, thinking about David rambling on. And on.

“He’s helped me, a lot. The Bulletin… it’s given me a home in so many ways. It’s cuz of Ellison. And Ben.” She gave that fond smile again – he’d seen it numerous times tonight – as she fell back onto the couch.

“What else is home?”

“What do you mean?”

“Home. What’s it – what’s it mean to you, you know?” He asked, making his own back to the seating area, though he hovered next to her for a moment before sitting down himself.

“Understanding? Familiarity? A place I don’t have to…hide,” she listed, looking away from him with that last one. “Where I can thrive, and be myself. I don’t know. That peace you feel inside that you only get from home. Somewhere I belong.” She finished, biting her lip slightly as she looked ahead of her, thoughtful. Frank had had his own confusions with the concept of ‘home’, thinking it used to be simple, about what was the right, decent answer. Then realising it wasn’t easy, and it wasn’t pleasant, and maybe it wasn’t even the one thing. The way Karen had described it…he thought about that feeling that had washed over him an hour past, where he had just sat, of that peace he’d felt in that elevator with her, of her encouraging him to go and finish whatever shit he was doing. He swallowed it back, focusing on another thought.

“Where’d you grow up? You’re not from New York.” He almost heard Red in his head, assuming he was from New York as he tried to get info out of him.

“Vermont.” She said without emotion, intriguing him even more.

“You ever go back?”

“No.” She said simply before she looked up at him. “Can we do that one another night?” she asked with a slight grimace – an expression that had Frank’s mind turning once again. He wanted to ask, wanted to know everything, wanted her to feel like she could tell him, was safe to. But he’d made the choice – it wasn’t just now, there would be other days. She could tell him another time, there would be another time.

“Sure.” He gave her a small smile and she stared back at him.

“Is there going to be another night?" she asked with caution, her thoughts maybe running similar lines to his own.

“Are we done with this one? You kicking me out?” He joked with a smirk.

“No!” she cried out in strong denial, making Frank lose any humour he had, the smirk falling off his face. She thought he was going to leave her, again. He stared back at her, she looked tired, and worn out and he hated to see it, afraid. It wasn’t that late. As a solider, as The Punisher, he was pretty aware of time passing. It couldn’t be after 9, probably more like 8:30, but he didn’t want to push her.

“You’re tired, Karen. You should get some sleep.” He tried.

“I…” she stopped herself, tucking her hair behind her ear before bringing her fingers to her neck.

“What is it?”

“I don’t want you to go. I don’t want to wake up with you gone again.” She whispered. Her eyes turned up at him only after she’d said it, waiting for his response.

“Go change.”

“What?” her hand fell away as she frowned.

“For bed. Go change properly. You're still in your work clothes. Never seen you out a damn pencil skirt.” Frank wasn’t a man who blushed, hadn’t been since he’d taken his first life at least, maybe even before then, but the way Karen’s eyes widened at his comment and she tried to hide what he was pretty sure was a full blown smile – and to top it off, she started to blush herself, pinks touching the paleness of her skin – he was pretty sure he was as close to blushing as Frank Castle of now could be. He cleared his throat. “That wasn’t… I… Just go goddamn change.” Then she fucking giggled. Goddamnit if it wasn’t worth every second of discomfort.

It shouldn’t make sense for her to work him up more by putting on more clothes than he’d ever seen her in, but there it was anyway. Somehow the fitted sweats she’d put on – some yoga style pants or something – highlighted exactly how damn long her legs were more than he’d noticed before, the large sweater making her look so much more delicate than he knew she was.

“You okay?”

“Yeah, yeah I’m okay. Got rid of the damn pencil skirt.” She smirked as she lowered her brows in mock-seriousness, her tone deep as she tried to mimic him.

“I noticed.” He said gruffly and staring at her like a jackass.

“What about you? Are you okay?” She asked seriously, sweetly, but he still couldn’t stop looking at her.

“I’ve had worse days.” Fuck when was the last time he’d actually checked someone out? But she was all soft-looking, comfortable. Like maybe they didn’t only know each other through gunshots and blood, explosions and hostage situations. The temptation of a whole new life was standing in front of him. He was glad he was sitting down.

“Yeah.” She said quietly, her teeth pressing against her lips before she swallowed and looked away, breaking the moment between them.

“Are you… Are you leaving now?”

“Thought you wanted me to stick around.” He replied with attitude that she didn’t deserve.

“Frank, can we not do this, please? I need…I need answers. I can’t keep…” she sighed, closing her eyes.

“I thought, if you want,” he started, more careful this time. “I might stick around on a long-term basis.”

“You mean it?”

“Karen, I just sat with your boss knowing full well I’m alive and kicking here. Do you think I would have done that if I was about to take off for good?”

“I don’t know. Maybe that’s exactly why.”

“Do you think I don’t want to be here?”

“I don’t know, Frank.” She said with defeat that riled Frank. He wanted her to fight, be determined, be the force she was. She challenged him, that was Karen.

“Bullshit. Look at me.” He demanded, waiting until he heard her full attention so she could hear him, hear what he was trying to tell her. “Haven’t you noticed that I always end up back here?”

“Yeah, because you need me for bait or information or –”

“Because I trust you,” he interrupted, bring her focus back on him. “Because you make me feel like maybe I’m still human for a fucking second. Like I’m not completely gone. I could have done that shit without you Karen, if I wanted to," She knew better, she knew the mess he left behind him. He didn't ask bait about their love-life, about their feelings. He didn't let informants hug him, didn't bury his face in their fucking neck. He didn't risk his life for them without a second thought because theirs was the only thing that mattered, didn't need them to believe in him. She'd always been something else. "But I didn’t want to. I want to be here. But I’m not really used to wants anymore, not past blood, not past killing.” he felt awkward, and heavy again. Too much relied on this moment, but fuck if he didn’t also felt the need to drive right towards it.

“What does that mean?” She asked with a small shrug, her eyes shinning again. He wanted to get up and go to her, but he needed her to come to him this time.

“It means this shit isn’t easy for me. But I… you…” he closed his eyes and took a breath. “You make it easier, better. Shit, Karen, you were the first thing that gave me any kind of hope after I lost my family – the only real thing.” She didn’t say anything, just looked at him like maybe…fuck, like maybe she could love him. He swallowed. “Sit down, or kick my ass out so you can go to bed and get some sleep.” He added, turning away and only seeing her from the corner of his eye, but he heard her laugh, just a light breath but still a laugh that he treasured like a pathetic asshole.

“Shut up.” She aimed at him as she sat down next to him finally, her lips turned up.

“Did you think Fisk had sent me? Before, when I got out.”

“I don’t know. Not really. It all kind of…scrambled in my head when you turned up at my apartment. I trusted you, but I didn't know if I trusted me. When you first – with Grotto, before I really knew anything…I thought I might…deserve it.” She dipped her head.

“Karen, that wasn’t - ”

“I know,” She quickly dismissed, her eyes on him again. “I believe you, remember? And I get it. Grotto…wasn’t who I thought he was,” She looked disappointed at that, like somehow Grotto being the worthless shit he was made her sad. “But Frank, he was still… Did you know we had a funeral for him? It was just the three of us,” she shook her head. He had an image of Karen, Foggy and Murdock sitting alone in a church, grieving someone who didn’t deserve it. “He told me he had no one.” He wondered if what lead her to give Frank a chance, to question if there was more to him and his actions that just a killer out of his nut was the same thing that lead her to want to help Grotto. It bothered him, her giving someone like that her time, her care, trying to identify with him. He didn’t deserve it. Frank didn’t deserve it either, but at least Frank knew he would give her back everything he could, would die for her. But he didn’t want to quill her want to her help, even if it did get her in trouble, so he kept his mouth shut on his opinions about Grotto. Ridiculously, he might never have met her if that scumbag hadn’t survived Frank’s original hit.

“You didn’t deserve it. You were always safe, Karen. And you did the right thing with the Wesley guy. You looked after yourself, and the people you love. That will always be the right thing.” He’d praise her fight all day long if it was what she needed.

“You didn’t drink much.” Was all she said, her attention on his glass of scotch still sitting on the coffee table.

“Don’t need it.” He replied with a thoughtful frown. Before he wouldn’t have drank it because he couldn’t afford to lose any focus, he had to be ready. Now he realised he didn’t need it to soften or calm him because being here was enough to do that alone.

 

She’d been asleep curled next to him on the sofa for about about 40 minutes. And he’d been at the point of almost dosing off himself just to the sounds of her breathing and the city outside her apartment when he decided to get up. Just because he felt like maybe he could relax, tip his head back and just drift off and sleep in this place with her doesn’t mean that it’s what he should be doing. And he doesn’t know if he’s quite ready for that level of relaxation. Not yet. There will be other nights, he tells himself as his mind pushes back – that’s the point, he’s made sure there will be other nights. And really, he actually enjoys this. The quiet and just being, no mission he’s paying attention to, no clock counting down. His mind is active but it’s not noisy, nothing is haunting him. He's had trouble in the silence but this, this is okay. It’s just the quiet comfort of Karen Page’s apartment and her trusting him enough to fall asleep right next to him. She knows exactly what he is, what he’s become, more than maybe anybody else, and yet she’s the one that takes him inside and trusts her safety around him. Frank doesn’t like himself, but that – that helps. If she – someone who is so sweet and good, determined and strong can see something good in him, something she actually likes – maybe he still has something worthwhile. Something past his combat skills. He thinks about Ellison valuing him as something that could protect her, seeing him as something of value through her. Maybe he can be something worthwhile for her. If she deems it, he’ll try. If there’s anything redeemable of him, he’s happy to find it through her.

He takes his single glass to the sink, rinses it out and turns to the vase still sitting there. Frank wonders where she’ll put it, or if it will stay there. He finds himself fingering the petals as if the damn things are new to him and he wasn't the one who bought them and brought them in here.

He’d been looking around her apartment more from his place on the couch, trying to make out some of the book titles in her cabinet. The picture of Karen, Foggy and Murdock kept catching his eye and he walks over to it again. He never knew them like that, a happy trio. Earlier he would have said he didn’t think he knew Karen like that, but he’s taken back by how much he’d somehow being interwoven into Karen’s life without him even realising it. Ben’s car, Ben’s tapes. Ellison knows who he is, had apparently been with Karen when she was reacting to him. He knew Murdock was Red before she did. Even Grotto, who somehow left a mark he didn’t deserve on her heart, Frank’s the one that knew him first, Frank’s the one that killed him. Mahoney's the one that arrested him, and seems to be the cop Karen trusts. He knows what Karen looks like when she’s proud of Foggy, when she’s encouraging him, and how the man listens to her. And Fisk. He’d tried to beat up Fisk. Now he wishes he’d used the cuffs to knock out the fuck’s teeth at a minimum, break his jaw. If Karen’s right and he does get out, Frank will make sure he end him next time. She'd managed to find a weakness to Fisk that he couldn't. All these people who make up Karen’s experiences and he’s got his own experiences with all of them. He isn’t sure what to do with that, doesn’t know exactly what it means yet. But it means he was here, somehow. It means he’s involved, as much as she’s involved in his life, in his actions. It all slots in together. They've been connected in some way since this other part of Frank's life started. Franks wonders what else there is, maybe from her side. The only one to have even been in his home. What shit does she know, who does she know about him, of him, that he doesn’t know yet. She knew David's name before he did, met Madani before he did and found out Reyes shit before he did. So what else is there, how far does it go?

He knows all these things, feels all these things. From her habits to her apartment, the way she smells, the way she smiles. The way she loves her friends, her made-family and the way she can push and carry him through. He knows who Ben Urich is to her now and he knows what she looks like in sweats. Maybe he doesn’t know what is she likes breakfast in bed or what her favourite flower really is, but he can find out. He knows her, like she knows him. Maybe it isn't aware to the world, but he's aware of it now. There isn’t a picture of him, but he’s been there. And fuck he can’t deny the relief he feels at that realisation, in believing it now. It’s twisted, and selfish, but it is what it is.

“Frank.” She woke up with his name, panicked, as he's still standing in front of her cabinet.

“I’m right here.” He tried for casual, not wanting to crowd her, or embarrass her. He knew how he woke up sometimes. Whatever she was dreaming, was worried about, it didn’t matter, he was here.

“What are you…what are you doing?” she squinted at him from her place on the couch

“Checking out your book collection.” He said as he turned back to the bookcases.

“What?”

“I’ve finished my reading list.”

“You have a reading list?” He could hear the amusement in her voice.

"Something like that. Got any recommendations?”

“Uh.”

“You’re a writer, I figure you should know your stuff.” He looked back at her. She fell back against the couch, her head resting against the back pillow as she closed her eyes again.

“I’m an investigative reporter. And I learned on the fly. Doesn’t mean I know great literature.” She mumbled out, sounding like she was happy to go back to sleep. Maybe she didn’t even realise she’d called out for him.

“Oh, forgive me, what was I thinking.”

“Something pig-headed like usual, I'm sure.” That was said with a smile, for sure, one mushed against the fabric of the sofa and makes him chuckle.

“Alice in Wonderland?” He said out loud as his eyes landed on it.

“You’ve never felt like you went wandering down a path you shouldn’t have, that opens up some ridiculous new world you can’t escape?” When he looked towards her again she’d turned her head to face him and was peeking at him with just one eye partially opened. Again, Frank wanted to kiss her. He's starting to get used to it.

“Fair enough. Blonde, too.” He pointed out. She groaned back at him, making him grin.

“Aren’t you uncomfortable?” She asked him as he sits back down next to her.

“Aren’t you?” He turned it back, looking at her tucked up again, her knees almost to her chest next to him as she leaned against the back cushion. Taking the risk, he grabbed her legs at her calves and draped her legs over his lap before he tugged the intensely overly colourful blanket on the other side of him and covered her – and himself – with it. Then he rested his hands on her legs, over the blanket.

“I’m fine here.” He said without looking at her, his book in the other hand. He felt her grab at him, her fingers grasping his shirt, but she releases him as he turns to her, looking embarrassed as she avoids his eyes. He followed her hand with his own, clutching it before she could fully pull it back. He was grateful when she linked their fingers and squeezed his hand because he wasn’t sure exactly what he was supposed to do after taking her hand. Wasn’t sure she’d even want his hands anywhere near her own, not like this. He’d done a lot of damage with these hands. But here she was, accepting them with her own.

“Hyacinths.” She murmured after a while.

“Hm?"

“I like wildflowers. Vermont is…there’s wildflowers. In the city – I never realised I’d miss them. But hyacinths. You can get hyacinths in florists here, often all year round. I like the white ones. Purple is more like the wild ones but…I like white. Pink’s fine too.” She had her eyes closed the whole time, Frank watched her. He brushed his thumb against hers in acknowledgement.

“Hyacinths.” He repeated with a nod, trying not to grin as he committed it to memory.

“I like the roses.”

“Maybe you should have a window-box.”

“Hm, know too many vigilantes who might need to get in.” she quipped.

“I promise to use the door. Most of the time.” He said casually, covering the seriousness that lay underneath, the commitment.

“Thank you for coming back,” He decided not to tell her that he wasn’t sure he’d ever actually left, that there had always been something tugging him back, something that had him checking her articles, going to her for help, watching her as he’d linked himself into her life without fully realising. “For staying.” She clarified as if she was in his head. He tightened his grip on her hand and pulled her legs against him with his other. Yeah, he's fine here.

 

 

 

_All we do is hide away_  
_All we do is lie and wait_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who read this and again, especially the kudos and comments. This took me a lot longer than I would have liked and at Chapter 2 I started to struggle and question if I should be writing it - if I could write it, thinking my Karen and Frank voices were totally off. So I really appreciate the extra encouragement.
> 
> I'm thinking of writing an epilogue/companion piece of Karen taking Frank to meet Doris. I thought that would be enjoyable to write.


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